Undesirables
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Every reader wishes they could go back and change something in a story. Be careful what you wish for. When a shadowy society does just that, Sirius's life is saved but at awful cost. Now Voldemort is on the verge of winning, those who stand against him are few and scattered, and a horcrux is just out of reach. In their defense, it sounded like a good idea at the time . . .
1. Threads Pulled

**Two Years Earlier**

They'd planned it so perfectly. Kreacher would die painlessly, and, to the eyes of anyone who examined him later, naturally. He wasn't a young house-elf, after all.

They knew, of course, that Kreacher had done one thing crucial to the war effort. It needed to be done, so they laid Regulus's locket on his chest and left him where he'd be found by the Order once their meeting was concluded.

Everett shuddered as they laid him out on the carpet of the dark hallway. The dark eyes of Kreacher's ancestors seemed to be glaring at them from their place on the stairs.

Murder, they accused.

Justice, he insisted.

Preemptive justice, his sister had said scornfully, right before she walked away from the Society. He hadn't seen her since.

Actual voices, instead of the ones that had been dancing through his head lately, grew louder. Raca gave the locket one last twist so that it would catch the light, and the two of them stepped back into the shadows that would lead them to their own world.

Dumbledore would see the locket and know what to do with it. The horcrux would be destroyed, and Sirius would be safe.

That plan might have worked better had Dumbledore not been forced to leave the meeting early to deal with an emergency. He had been gone before Everett and Raca had even arrived.

The door opened and light spilled out, carrying with it the murmur of worried voices.

"If You-Know-Who gets a hold of it - "

"Has anyone heard from Harry - "

"Sirius, are you going to be all right here?"

All of which cut off when they saw the surprisingly pitiful corpse in the floor.

For all he'd joked about it, Sirius was truly sorry the house-elf was gone. There was little that could be done for him now, but Sirius buried him in the backyard and put a small marker over the grave.

Assuming that it was some family heirloom that had been important to the elf, he buried the locket with him.

 **Author's Note: Don't worry. The OCs will be disappearing into the shadows after this until the end.**


	2. Wanted: Sirius Black

Author's Note: The original inspiration from this story came from a series of "What if Voldemort Won?" posters on Pinterest. They're really cool; look them up if you haven't seen them.

. . . . .

 **One Week After the Battle of Hogwarts; Number 12 Grimmauld Place**

"This is bad. This is bad. This is really, really, bad." Sirius paced in front of the kitchen fireplace.

Years of determined cleaning had finally put a bit of cheer into the once grim house, but new scars and peculiarities had hurried in to replace the old ones. Like the rut Sirius had worn into the kitchen floor with his pacing, for instance. Or the collection of wanted posters he'd hung up over the old family portraits. The irony of a bounty being placed on his head by two governments for the crime of being on the other one's side had not escaped him. And, on the topic of scars, there was the relatively recently splintered door and broken furniture that had been the perhaps inevitable product of a full moon, a werewolf, and a complete lack of either wolfsbane or sufficient Animagi.

Sirius stopped that line of thought before it could go any further. The events of that full moon had been nearly a month ago, back when it had been just the three of them holed up in here - well, four if you counted dear old Mum's shrieking portrait - but it had been - well . . .

Tonks would be fine, he told himself firmly. And she's more upset about missing the battle than she is about the scars. She'll probably be able to hide those anyways, once she's up to using her powers again.

Remus, on the other hand . . .

He turned his mind firmly back to the problem at hand. It, at least, was something he could hex.

He resumed pacing. "Twelve of them! Twelve, at all hours!" He paused. "Although I suppose it could be viewed as a compliment . . . " he mused.

"What now?" Remus asked wearily from the doorway. His face was even more haggard and gaunt than it normally was before the full moon. He looked rather like he'd just been released from Azkaban. Or perhaps, from the haunted look in his eyes, that he'd not yet left. Come to think of it, did any prisoner ever really leave? Or did it come with them, filling their dreams, stealing every quiet moment, destroying what little they managed to build for themselves afterwards?

He shook himself. He paused a moment, waiting for Remus to make a comment about dogs, but he just stood there, waiting for the next piece of their doom to fall.

"Death Eaters," Sirius said in defeat. He could avoid the subject for no longer. "Twelve of them, camped outside our door. They change out every few hours. Have for about a day now." Something occurred to him. "Have you really not looked outside in all in that time?"

Remus shrugged listlessly. "I've been busy trying to manage those first years."

"Job and a half that," Sirius muttered. "And on a related note, we're almost out of food, which is inconvenient, considering we're now under siege."

"How long can we hold out without more?"

"With six first years in the house?" He sighed. Far too many for them to easily take care of. Far too few when he considered how many had been left behind to face Voldemort's wrath.

And how many had been lying silent in the halls.

"Tonks hasn't been eating much," Lupin pointed out.

"Neither have you," Sirius said shrewdly.

Lupin looked away. "I'm not hungry."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah. Sure." He ran his hand through his hair. "Look on the bright side. At least we know they can't come in now. The Fidelius charm must still be holding."

"Yeah," Lupin said quietly. Fidelius charms were still a sore subject. "Any word from Harry?"

"He's alive," Sirius said bleakly. He looked to where he'd put the enchanted mirror on the kitchen table. He carried it with him everywhere now. It was the only method of communication they had that couldn't be intercepted. "He said he'd try and talk longer tonight. They were being chased from the sound of it." Cold fear still licked through his veins at the thought of it. Harry was in trouble, and there was nothing he could do to help. What if he called Harry's voice into the mirror tonight and there was no answer?

"Speaking of talking - "

Lupin raised an eyebrow. Sirius was pleased with himself. That was the best reaction he'd gotten out of him in a month. "Have you talked to Tonks?"

"Sirius, if you had turned into a raging beast and nearly killed the woman you loved, would you want to talk to her?"

"No," Sirius admitted, "but I'm not a masochist. Just go in there, let her yell at you, and you'll both get it out of your system. Things can get back to normal around here." Well, harboring muggleborn first years in a house besieged by Death Eaters while they slowly ran out of food and worried about friends who hadn't managed to make it to a safe house normal.

Lupin finally slumped into a chair. "I did talk to her," he admitted. "Right before the battle."

"And?" Sirius demanded. Lupin didn't answer. "Fine. I'll ask Tonks. I should probably bring her some lunch anyway. Speaking of which, fix something up for the midgets, would you?"

Lupin didn't rise to his bait. He just nodded dully.

"Cheer up, mate," Sirius said quietly. "Things could be worse."

"How?" Lupin asked hopelessly.

"Harry could be dead. We could be dead."

Lupin looked like he thought he might prefer to be dead. Sirius hurried on. "Hermione, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Mini Me's - "

"Beg pardon?"

Sirius waved a hand. "Fred and George. Point is, we've lost some good people - "

"Half the DA. More than half the Order."

"Mad-Eye might have made it out."

"Kingsley didn't. And neither did the rest of the Weasleys."

"We're looking at the bright side," Sirius reminded him. He plunged ahead. "Tonks is walking now."

Lupin snorted. "If that's what your idea of optimism is, things have gotten truly bad."

"At least you didn't bite her." Clawed, yes. Bite, no.

"Because she managed to hold me off. That time. Because you recovered from your best friend throwing you against a wall in time to pull me off her. That time. What about this time, Sirius? I'm locked in the house with an injured auror, an aging Animagus - "

"Hey!"

"And six children! Children, Sirius! Can you honestly tell me you can protect all of them come moonrise?"

"We've still got three days," Sirius said. "I'll think of something."

The desperation hadn't left Lupin's eyes, but he tried to pretend he believed him. "Right."

"I will," Sirius insisted. "Now go get those first years some lunch before they mob the kitchen."

Remus did as he was ordered while Sirius loaded a slightly stale sandwich onto a tray. Maybe Tonks could give him some answers about her conversation with Lupin. That wouldn't answer the thornier question though.

What by all the dementors were they going to do?


	3. Reward: Information on Dumbledore's Army

**Somewhere in England**

The remaining members of the DA huddled around the table. Cold rain lashed the sides of their tent. It was fortunate that Hermione had managed to hold on to her purse. Their quarters might have been a bit cramped, but at least they were out of the rain.

Of course, it wasn't as crowded as it could have been. Fred and George had been making improvements.

There was another reason it wasn't as crowded as it could have been, but Harry didn't like thinking about that.

The memories came anyway. It was hard for them not to with all the reminders laying around.

Godric Gryffindor's sword, so casually propped up against Ginny's chair, had fallen from Neville's hands when Nagini killed him.

Seamus and Dean's wands, taken up by the twins when their own had shattered. Their owners hadn't had a use for them by that point.

And the clock. They hadn't stayed long at the burrow, but Ron had panicked their third day on the run, and when they'd apparated away from Bellatrix, his first thought had been of home. They'd had to leave quickly, but not before grabbing some supplies, and not before Ron had spotted the clock.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's hands had lain shattered at the bottom. They had all expected that, much as it hurt to even think about the warm, motherly woman and her eager husband bleeding out on the stones of Hogwarts. He hadn't been able to breathe for a moment. The kitchen hadn't been disturbed. It had seemed like at any moment she should have come bustling down the stairs, yelling at the twins for tracking mud on her floors and whipping up a massive dinner and insisting Harry take fourths.

Bill had been gone since the first battle of Hogwarts, dying in the same battle as Dumbledore. And most of them had been there when Percy had fallen, only minutes after he finally picked the right side.

But they had watched as Charlie's hand had flicked from "Mortal Peril" (where everyone else was these days) to "Traveling" for just a split second.

"Still on the run, then," Ron had said with relief. "Must be apparating."

The hand had swung back down to "Mortal Peril". Ron had set the clock on the kitchen table.

Then the hand had shuddered and fallen off. It bounced once, before neatly breaking in two.

"Maybe - maybe I broke it," Ron had said desperately.

"Yeah, you set it down too hard, what were you thinking?" George had grabbed onto the excuse.

In answer, Fred had hurled the clock at the wall. The remaining hands didn't so much as shudder.

"He didn't break it."

Luna might have made it out. She could still be on the run somewhere. Colin Creevey, on the other hand, had been hit with a Blasting Charm head on.

The remaining survivors were grim. Talking with Sirius always cheered them up a little, but in the face of all they had seen, nothing could cheer them much. Only Fred and George retained any semblance of cheerfulness, but Harry was reasonably certain that they were as truly cheerful as he was certain what they should do next, which is to say, not at all, but trying to keep up appearances for the others' sakes.

Harry cleared his throat and stood up. Hermione and Ron, who she was currently using as a pillow, already knew what he was about to say, but the others - Fred, George, and Ginny - needed to know.

He explained about the horcruxes as quickly as he could. He would have told them earlier, but this was the longest breathing moment they'd been blessed with since the battle.

"Six horcruxes?" Fred said in disbelief.

"Plus the fragment still in the man himself," Harry said quietly. "But there's only three of the horcruxes left now."

"That's why Neville went after the snake," Ginny realized. She looked up at Harry. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Yes. The sword's invested with basilisk venom. It could have killed the snake."

"But the snake was too quick," Hermione said in a small voice.

"We can fix that," George muttered.

Fred got a wicked gleam in his eye. "Skiving Snackboxes for snakes. Brilliant."

"So the snake and the locket," Ginny said.

"Never did find that locket," Ron said. "We've got a copy though."

"I'll explain later," Harry promised the others.

"What's the last one, then?" George asked.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Even Ron and Hermione didn't know this part.

"Harry?" Ginny asked in concern.

"Me," he said quietly. "The last horcrux is me."


	4. Wanted: Nymphadora Tonks

**Grimmauld Place**

"No, no, no! Stop! Stop that at once!"

Ailsa and Callum, two of the muggleborns they'd rescued, froze guiltily in the act of building a massive dungbomb sling at the top of the stairs.

"You're doing it all wrong," Sirius explained. "It's the wrong kind of material. Not nearly stretchy enough, see?"

They gaped at him. He frowned down at what they'd done so far, testing it.

"It just won't do," he decided. "Here . . . " He juggled the tray for a moment while he got his wand out. "Attendo!" He pulled on the fabric again. It now stretched like elastic. "There, try that and let me know how it goes. I might want a turn with it later."

"Yes, sir!" A wide eyed Callum saluted him happily. Ailsa was testing the new abilities of the sling for herself, eyes dancing with calculations.

Sir. Sirius still wasn't used to that.

Lupin, with the same stealth that had made him invaluable at pranks during their school years, had come up the stairs behind him. "You do know you're supposed to be pretending to be a responsible adult right now, right?" Remus muttered.

"I am being a responsible adult! They're shoring up the house's defenses."

A ghost of a smile flickered over Remus's face. "If you say so."

Sirius stepped over the contraption carefully and left the children to their test runs. With a dozen Death Eaters running around in the yard, booby trapping the house seemed like an excellent idea. Besides, it kept the kids busy, and considering all they'd seen . . . Well, busy was good. Sirius knew that first hand. Who knew? Maybe this project of theirs would excite Ailsa enough to get her talking again.

He continued on past the landing and up to the second floor before knocking on the door that led to Tonks' room. She could walk around some now, but she got dizzy if she stayed up for too long, something even Tonks' best efforts hadn't been able to hide.

"Come in," she called grumpily.

Sirius pushed the door open. Tonks was sprawled on the bed and holding up a mirror. The skin on her face twisted as she gave herself a pig snout, a beak, and what looked suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore's nose in quick succession before popping back to normal.

Unfortunately, the scars that raked the left side of her face weren't so easily left behind.

She looked over at him. "Food!" She leaped to her feet but swayed slightly and had to grab the bed frame. "Ugh. You'd think I'd be over this by now."

"You were in bed for nearly a month. Take it slow."

She narrowed her eyes. "When did you get possessed by the ghost of Madam Pomfrey?"

Sirius grinned. "Not possessed. Just lots of experience. Between my own injuries and visiting the other Marauders, I think I spent more time at Hogwarts in the hospital wing then out of it."

She'd grabbed the sandwich off the plate, but she toyed with it instead of digging in. "Were any of those injuries . . . you know . . . Full moon related?"

"Some of them," Sirius admitted.

She nodded slowly. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

She waved the sandwich. "Get Remus to get over himself."

Sirius blinked. "What?"

She scowled. "He won't talk to me. And since I still haven't been able to find my wand that somebody," she glared at him, "hid to keep me away from the battle, I can't corner him with a Body Bind Curse so we can sort this out like normal people."

It was probably a sign of her Black heritage that she considered that problem solving for normal people.

"What did you say when he came to talk to you before the battle?"

She frowned. "I asked him how his arm was." She crossed her arms somewhat defensively. "I panicked, all right? I couldn't get to my wand in time, and I'd been slicing up the meat - " She cut herself off. "Why?"

"Something he said made me think . . . I don't know. That you hadn't forgiven him yet."

She blinked. "It wasn't his fault."

Sirius grinned. "Finally. Someone who understands. Welcome to a very exclusive club. And when I say exclusive, I regret to say that I mean it doesn't include Remus."

"He blames himself."

"And will to his dying day. Instead of blaming, for instance, the person whose fault it is that the werewolf got loose in the first place."

"Not you too."

"Whatever you want, cuz." He frowned. "To answer your question, our old defense whenever one of us got hurt was denial - not that he believed us, but once we healed up, he got over it. Any luck with the scars?"

She shook her head in frustration. "I'm trying. I can get them to move around a bit - " She demonstrated. "But I can't take them disappear entirely."

"I was afraid of that." He considered. "You could try hitting him over the head," he suggested. "Maybe some cognitive recalibration would help."

She threw a pillow at him. "How's Harry? What's going on?"

"Harry's fine." Hopefully. "River's still running Potterwatch. And . . . We might have a few Death Eaters in the front yard."

"Fun. I want my wand back."

"I don't know if that's - "

She threw her plate at him.

"Under your bed, between the slats."


	5. Wanted: Ginevra Weasley

"We're fine," Harry assured his godfather. "How's Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh, same old, same old. First years building booby traps, Death Eaters getting into my mother's tulips - ought to thank them for that, she would have been outraged - oh, and I'm worried Remus is going to do something stupid."

"I thought that was your job."

"Tell me about it." He looked away from the mirror as a crash came from the kitchen. "Now what?" He grimaced. "Sorry, Harry, I've got to go."

"S'all right. See you tomorrow." Harry set the mirror down.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Ginny asked quietly from behind him. She still looked rather pale.

"No. And it's going to stay that way," Harry said fiercely. "You know what he's like."

"You don't think he'd be reasonable about it?" she asked as she draped her arms around him.

"I really doubt it."

"Mm." She leaned and gave him a kiss. "Just so you know, Harry . . ."

"Yes?" He stole another kiss.

"I'm not planning to be reasonable either."

He leaned back in frustration. "Ginny . . . "

"Voldemort has to go down," she said fiercely, "but I refuse to accept that you dying is the only way to accomplish that. And before you protest, ask yourself what you'd say if it was the other way around."

He choked. "Pardon?"

"If I was the last horcrux - or Ron, or Hermione, or any of the others - what would you do?"

"Find another way," he said reluctantly.

"Right." She kissed him again. "So don't do anything stupid, all right? I might have to come after you."

What was promising to be a very good kiss was interrupted by a round of applause from the Weasley twins.

"Excellent form! And that's a 9.5 from the handsome judge to the left."

"Pardon me, but I believe you meant to say a nine and three-quarters from the handsome judge to the right."

They broke off, both blushing fiercely.

"Er . . . Hi, Fred. Hi, George."

Ginny had her wand out. "What are you doing out here?" she asked furiously.

Both twins backed away with their hands up. "We had - "

" - an idea - "

" - that we thought - "

" - might help."

"And that is?" Harry asked, still blushing.

They told him.

"Brilliant!" Harry said, grinning. "Just be careful, all right?"

They bowed in unison. "Trust us - "

" - we're experts - "

" - at not getting caught."

Of course, the stakes were a bit higher this time.


	6. Potterwatch: Password: Longbottom

"Hello, folks, this is River, calling in from - well, somewhere in the northern hemisphere. Let's not make it too easy for old corpse-face, right?

"I am pleased to report that I am still alive and have high hopes for many of my co-stars. Unfortunately, our regulars are unable to be with us tonight, but we do have a new correspondent. Ladies, gentlemen, and Weasleys, allow me to introduce Rightheart!"

"Rightheart?" a dreamy voice questioned.

"It's your codename."

"Why do we need codenames? They already know we're on Harry's side."

"Er . . . Because they're cool?"

"Oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "I don't really have much experience with 'cool'. But if codenames are cool, why didn't people use them back at school?"

Another pause. "It's complicated. Anyway, Rightheart, let's move on. I hear you've got a report for us?"

"Yes, but it's very depressing. Are you sure you wouldn't rather hear about Nargles instead?"

"What are - never mind. Just give the report."

"All right. It was a very beautiful day. I remember there was a cloud that reminded me of Dobby - "

There were a few brief sounds that might have been a microphone being stolen. "To cut a long story short, folks, Hogsmeade has been all but obliterated. So far, reported deaths include Madame Rosmerta, Aberforth Dumbledore, Alistair Crumblewith . . . "

The list went on for quite some time.

" . . . and in a casualty no one was expecting, it seems Peeves the Poltergeist has been exorcised.

"If you have any more information, we urge you to come forward. Let's have a moment of silence for those who gave their lives resisting You-Know-Who."

It passed. "In better news, a surprising number of Deatheaters are rumored to have broken into highly painful boils that even St. Mungo's is at a loss to cure. Rumors that You-Know-Who has also been affected are highly unlikely but admittedly amusing, so we can keep our fingers crossed. Good work, whoever you are, although to be honest, I think we all know. I'm sure somewhere, Peeves is laughing right now.

"Speaking of rumors, I'm glad to say Harry Potter is still alive, still free, and still fighting, despite all rumors to the contrary. For evidence, just check the wanted posters. I recommend getting your hands on as many as you can; I suspect they'll be collector's items when all this is over.

"I'm also glad to report that Braveheart will soon be distributing new issues of the Quibbler - "

The shrieks of a Caterwauling Charm interrupted him.

"Right, folks, seems those charming Deatheaters are once again requesting the pleasure of my company, so we've got to fly. Next password will be "Creevey". Stay safe, stay free, and keep fighting!"


	7. Known Order Location: 12 Grimmauld Place

**One Day Before Full Moon, 12 Grimmauld Place**

"Wotcher, Remus - Oops, sorry - "

Tonks had hobbled into the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates and come up behind where Remus was sitting. He'd turned when she'd spoken, just as she'd tripped over the rug. The plates came crashing down as she stumbled into him, jogging his arm. Something fell from his hand into the midst of the shards.

"Sorry!" She knelt by the plates.

"No, let me - "

Tonks gasped. Her hair had gone bright pink for the first time in a month. She picked up what he'd dropped with shaking fingers.

It was small. And gold. And sparkly.

The diamond was tiny and the ring was a little scratched. It had probably been purchased second hand from a pawn shop somewhere.

It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She threw her arms around Remus. "Yes! Yes! Absolutely!" She clutched the ring as if it might disappear at any second.

Lupin had stumbled backward a bit, but he wrapped his arms around her cautiously. Finally!

Sirius clattered down the stairs looking grim. "Bad news - "

Tonks let Remus go. "Good news! I'm engaged!" She waved her ring in the air.

The grim look dropped from Sirius's face. "Seriously? Cheers, cuz!" He picked her up and whirled her around. Tonks laughed, hair growing pinker by the second.

"Harry'll want to know."

"I'll tell him! Maybe he can get a message through to Mum." Still beaming, Tonks hurried out.

Remus was still standing by the shattered plates with a slightly stunned look on his face.

Sirius glanced at the scene and laughed. "Real romantic, Moony."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "I - well - "

"Allow me to guess." Sirius looked into the distance and adopted the misty tones he'd used to squeeze out a few extra points on his Divination O.W.L. "Some months ago, after much deliberation, you bought a ring. Further contemplation of said ring left you feeling that it, and by extension, you, were insufficient, both of you being rather old, poor, and beaten up - "

"Hey!"

" - so you held on to it, planning to, someday, with a great many apologies and backtrackings, to propose. After the accident a few weeks ago, you gave up on the idea and held onto it only so that you could look at it and think depressing thoughts. You were doing so moments ago when Tonks collided with you, both of you dropped what you were holding, she saw the ring - "

"Pretty much." He hadn't actually intended to propose after - after the accident. He'd assumed she wouldn't even want to talk to him, much less get married.

Sirius seemed to be reading his mind. The grin dropped. "You realize she knows all of that too, right?" he said more seriously.

Remus's head snapped up. "What?"

Sirius shrugged. "She wanted to get married. You wanted to get married. You were being stupid about it, so she took matters into her own hands. She's a Black. What did you expect?"

Remus was still staring at him.

Sirius grinned again. "Second Marauder to tie the knot! Who would have guessed? Congratulations, Moony. Now, why did I come down here in the first place . . . "

Before Lupin could smack him, an explosion sounded from somewhere near the front door.

"Oh, that's right. The Deatheaters are attacking."

"YOU FORGOT THAT THE DEATHEATERS - "

"I haven't had much sleep," Sirius said defensively. "And it's not every day your best friend and your cousin get engaged."

"I'm going to kill you," Remus growled.

Another explosion sounded.

"Do it later," Sirius suggested. They ran for the stairs.


	8. Thinking and Other Dangerous Activities

Sirius bounded over to where Tonks was glaring out the window. Explosions still rocked the house. The Deatheaters had finally figured out they didn't need to see the house to destroy it. The protection charms were holding, though.

For now.

"Those goblin blooded slugs," Tonks hissed.

"Now, now, Tonks," Sirius said mildly. "Let's not insult the goblins. Or the slugs, for that matter. How long will the charms hold out?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Midnight? Maybe?"

"By which point you'll already be dealing with a raging werewolf," Remus said bitterly.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Remus," he said slowly, "silver can kill you during the full moon, right? Just silver?"

"And killing curses. Why?"

Sirius smiled. It was a smile that showed a lot of teeth. "I've had an idea."

. . . . .

Ron sat at the rickety table, staring at the clock.

One of the hands at the bottom jumped.

So did Ron. He leaped to his feet. "Hermione!"

She ran inside the tent. "What?"

"One of the hands. It's moving!"

"Which one?"

"Charlie's, look!"

Nothing happened.

"Ron," she began gently.

"I'm telling you, it moved!"

Hermione picked it up. Just as she did, it jumped again.

She shrieked and dropped it.

"Something's happened. He's alive, he must be!"

Hermione hesitated, biting her lip. "Ron - "

"You saw it!"

"I know, I did, it's just - well - " Hermione was miserable. "He was dead."

"Yeah, but - "

"So don't you think it's more likely that - that - that someone found the body a-and turned him into an Inferi or something?"

He opened his mouth to yell at her, but he slumped defeated back into his chair instead. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. He put his head in his hands. "I just wanted some hope."

Unnoticed on the floor, the hand continued to jump, throbbing like a beating heart.


	9. Wanted: Draco Malfoy

**A/N: Draco Malfoy is a jerk. I am not, will not, and have no desire to defend his decision to be and remain one throughout the books and films.**

 **However, there's a moment in the books where he gets the chance to be something better, and he hesitates before walking away from it. For once, the moment actually hit me harder in a film. I was so hopeful that in the eighth film at the end of the battle Draco would make the right choice. And he almost did.**

 **But he didn't. Fine. Whatever.**

 **. . . Given a different situation, might he have?**

 **Maybe.**

 **And what is fanfiction for but to explore the possibilities?**

 **He's still a jerk. But he's a redeemable one.**

. . . . . .

Draco Malfoy walked briskly through St. Mungo's and prayed no one noticed the thin line of sweat creeping down his forehead. The stolen Healer's robes swished against the tile just a half inch lower than they should have. Stupid mudbloods, couldn't even steal a proper disguise, the idiots - well, not that Crabbe or Goyle would have done any better - But who needed an excuse to rant about mudbloods? They were inferior. (Even if Granger was the brightest witch in their year.) They were cowards. (Even if that Dennis kid had stood up to Aunt Bella, even knowing what the cost would be.) They'd diluted the purity of wizarding blood, they'd polluted the halls of Hogwarts, they'd -

They'd gone and given him a conscience. After two years of struggling with the unwieldy thing, he'd begrudgingly accepted it.

It had been such an honor to be chosen to serve the Dark Lord at first, of course. Finally, a chance to get even with Potter and his infuriating lackeys. If tormenting him for five years had been hilarious, how much fun would it be to take things to the next level?

Fun, he had quickly learned, hadn't come into it. Nausea had. Guilt had. Fun, not so much.

Because no, it wasn't funny to watch the mudbloods being tortured for sport. It wasn't satisfying to see Potter and Co. be dragged in before his twisted family and the Dark Lord. And he had felt nothing but sick when asked to carry out the torture himself when Potter had spared his life just an hour before.

The night Dumbledore had died, the lines had been drawn. He had tried to convince himself for a full year that he had picked the right one. He had certainly picked the winning one, and winning was the most important thing. That was what his father had taught him. You had to win, no matter the cost.

The line had been drawn. Standing there that day, Draco had accepted that. He had also decided it was time to hop over it.

Funnily enough, helping the boy who lived and his friends escape the Dark Lord got you put on all kinds of "Most Wanted" lists.

Somehow, he still wasn't entirely sure how, he had ended up here, smuggling in supplies bought with an ever dwindling supply of money for the few dozen injured they had managed to rescue. This wasn't the first time people had come to St. Mungo's needing discretion even more than they needed healing, so there was a whole hidden wing available for use.

Unfortunately, it was expensive to rent, meaning they had to rely on their own dubious medical skills. To make matters worse, there had been hints that it was time for another bribe.

He pushed his cart of supplies into the broom cupboard and rapped impatiently on the back wall. It swung open to reveal the off white walls of the hidden wing.

Wood sat slumped against the wall by entrance, obviously asleep. A wireless radio and notes from the latest Potterwatch - ridiculous name, that - lay beside him.

Malfoy had begun to wonder if the man ever slept. He had been going like a machine ever since he got here.

The wheels of the cart squeaked. Wood jumped to his feet, wand out and at the ready.

He relaxed only slightly when he saw who it was. "Oh. It's you."

"Obviously," he drawled. He pushed the cart towards Wood. "Here."

Wood rifled through it quickly. "Where's the rest of it?"

"There is no rest of it."

"That's not good enough!"

"It's going to have to be!"

They glared at each other for a long moment.

Wood didn't quite look away first, but he did rub his hand across his eyes in a motion that almost looked like defeat. "Flitwick died," he said, almost in way of explanation.

Oh.

"What are we going to do with the body?" He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth."

Wood gaped at him. "I honestly have no idea."

"I'm not just sticking him in the cart."

"No, no, of course not. I just . . . need to think."

If by think he meant sleep, than yes, yes he did. He was capable of that, wasn't he? The world wouldn't fall apart without him for a few hours.

Wood changed the subject. "Angelina's doing better."

Malfoy remembered her. She'd been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Good."

Wood glanced sideways at him. "She's a pureblood, you know."

" . . . Good for her." Since when did Gryffindors care about that sort of thing?

"We're still not sure just how much damage that memory charm did. It's possible she won't ever remember everything. The biggest problem right now is the connect, you know? Getting her to care about things she can only vaguely remember."

He frowned. He'd spoken to her for a few moments yesterday. She'd really seemed on the way to a full recovery.

Apparently that hadn't been the reaction Wood was hoping for. He looked frustrated and even more worried than usual. He'd been her captain, after all. He was still looking after his players, in his way.

"Look, are you going to make me spell it out?"

"Since I have no idea what you're talking about, yes."

He remembered that fiery, manic glow from their Quidditch days. The war had almost entirely extinguished it, but it was still there, still fighting. There was a reason Wood was still upright, still willing to take on any Deatheaters to come his way. He would go down fighting, but he had finally seemed to realize that not everyone had to do the same. "I don't know what game you're playing, Malfoy. I'm not even going to try and guess why. But whenever you try whatever it is you're planning . . . If by some miracle your Deatheater buddies manage to get past me . . . "

And the Knut dropped. Wood planned to die fighting to protect his remaining friends. He expected to do it. And he was desperately trying to make sure that sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.

What better arguments to win him over? She's a pureblood. She'll stop fighting. (Yeah, right.) Why not leave her alone? Why not let her live? There were so few purebloods left, after all.

"There's only one problem with that," he snarled. "Believe it or not, I'm actually on your side."

He snatched the cart away from Wood and started on the far side of the corridor. He didn't want to talk to Wood at the moment.

He opened the last door and stalked in. A red-haired figure lay unmoving on the bed. Understandable. His heart had stopped twice after he'd arrived here, but his eyes were open at last.

It seemed Charlie Weasley had finally woken up.


	10. Dangers to a Peaceful Pureblood Society

Explosions still burst against the shield. Why the Muggles hadn't intervened yet, they didn't know.

In all the noise, not a single Deatheater noticed the soft crack of apparation. Besides, they'd cast spells so that no one could get past them by apparating out of the property. Why would anyone care to apparate within it?

For a moment, a shabby looking wizard in obvious pain stood behind them as his features twisted and elongated.

Then the moon slid out from behind a cloud, and suddenly, there was a werewolf on the front lawn, and he smelled blood.

Fresh, hot, human, blood.

He lunged forward.

. . . . .

The Deatheaters screamed. Sirius and Tonks burst out onto the yard. Five Deatheaters still needed to be taken care of. At the moment, they were all distracted.

One of them raised his wand at Remus. "Avada - "

Sirius finished that phrase for him. Tonks threw a stunning spell at his companion.

It missed. Nott turned, snarling.

That was a mistake on his part. The werewolf had grown bored with his now dead prey. He ripped into Nott from behind.

"Crucio!"

Sirius doubled over in pain. He managed to straighten only when Tonks took out the assailant.

"Inside! Now!" she yelled.

He didn't bother to reply. "Sectumsempra!" Snivellus would get a laugh out of that, he thought viciously. Taking down his friends with his old spell.

The remaining Deatheater realized he was very alone. He started backing away. He kept his wand leveled at the approaching werewolf. "S-stupefy!"

Two other voices echoed his cry. To the Deatheater's immense surprise, the cries weren't aimed at him. The werewolf collapsed to the ground.

Sirius picked his way carefully forward, wand extended. He used his free hand to help Tonks off the step like a true gentleman. And like someone familiar with her clumsiness.

"Thank you," he said cordially. "Do you know, it normally takes four people to stun a werewolf. I'm impressed. Well done, Tonks."

Tonks smiled. The Deatheater suddenly thought that she had far too many teeth. "I like to stay in practice. You were a little rusty tonight, cousin."

A petrification charm hit the Deatheater as he tried to run. Sirius smiled coldly. "I'm sure a little target practice will fix that right up. Why don't you get Remus inside, cuz? It's a little cold out here." He glanced back at the upper windows of the house. "And get those kids in bed. I'm going to have to ask Mr. Deatheater here a few questions."

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: I hate writing fight scenes. I really, truly, do. Unfortunately, I can't always avoid them. I hope this one was at least borderline acceptable. Feel free to add constructive criticism to a review. Hopefully the next chapter, featuring an old "enemy" and certain St. Mungo's patients will be better.**


	11. Mutually Agreed Upon Neutral Zones: None

**St. Mungo's, 12:30 pm, the Next Day**

"Well done, Gred."

"Smashing job, Forge," Fred agreed.

They lurked in the corner of St. Mungo's waiting room, well disguised by Polyjuice Potion. They let out identical snickers as yet another supporter of the new regime burst through the doors with their skin positively smothered with painful, rainbow colored boils that let out farting noises whenever you touched them.

Apparently, that was what happened when you ate expired Skiving Snackboxes. Fred and George couldn't have been more proud.

The crowd started to thin. Fred stood and stretched. "Replaced the last of the peppermints yet, brother mine?"

George smiled wickedly. "Toffees, every last one."

"Fresh, I hope?"

George sighed dramatically. "I fear they were all expired. I hope they won't mind too badly."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then they burst out cackling.

They were laughing so hard as they slipped out the door that they didn't even notice who was coming in the other way.

This set of Death Eaters didn't have a single boil to their names.

. . . . .

Draco Malfoy had asked for fifteen items for his fifteenth birthday. He had wanted only the best, of course. A new broomcare kit, new robes, chocolate from France . . .

Right now he would seriously consider cutting off his left arm for another vial of dittany. Failing that, he'd settle for some sleep.

Wood still didn't believe him, he could see. The idiot refused to take a break anytime Draco was working, no doubt afraid he'd start killing off patients if Wood dared take his eye off him for a second. He hadn't entirely given up the other angle either, although he was more subtle about it than before. This one was a pureblood, this one hadn't intended to fight and had only been caught in the crossfire, that one had been hit with a memory charm so powerful they probably wouldn't remember their own name when they woke up . . . Wood himself was as fanatically anti-Voldemort as he was pro-Quidditch, but while he might be willing to die for his beliefs, it was clear he was trying to save as many others as possible.

He might have thought it was almost touching if he just wasn't quite so tired.

He shoved his wand into his pocket and rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of the Bones girl's room.

"Malfoy!" Wood's voice roared.

He spun towards the door. All too familiar black robes filled the frame.

"Expelli-"

"Avada Kerdava!"

Wood collapsed sightless to the floor.

Malfoy stumbled back, swallowing hard. Run, run, he had to run, now -

"What's happening?" Susan yelled. Those patients well enough to hear took up the call.

Forget the damage Mudbloods could do to a peaceful pureblood society. It paled in comparison to the damage they were doing to his common sense.

Instead of disapparating like a sensible person, he ran back into the room and grabbed Susan Bones by the arm.

"Let go of me, you - "

He grabbed his wand. Seconds later, they were standing on the field the Quidditch World Cup had been held at.

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

Good, you saved one of them, now just stay here and -

And he was already back in the hallway fighting his way toward Angelina's room before he got halfway through that sentence. Great. This hero stuff must be catching.

He hexed Crabbe Sr. and managed to force his way into Angelina's room. She'd better appreciate this.

She was already on her feet, werewolf bites notwithstanding. She'd managed to grab her wand and was holding it in a hand that was only slightly shaky.

Might be willing to keep her head down. Yeah, right, Wood.

He grabbed her arm before she could do anything stupid. The world twisted around them, and they were back on the Quidditch field with Bones.

Angelina fell to her knees and threw up. Draco was feeling a little green himself. Apparating that much that quickly couldn't be healthy.

"The others?" Bones demanded.

"Dead."

She paled. "They can't be. You have to go back for them."

"There's no point, idiot! There are Deatheaters everywhere, I'm not risking it - "

"Then give me your wand, and I'll do it - " She reached for it, too.

"Fine!" He threw his hands up in the air. One last time. He couldn't let a girl outdo him, after all.

Smoke was everywhere. He hadn't been lying when he said the others were probably dead by now. The Deatheaters were going from room to room, methodically mowing them down.

Although, to the wounded's credit, he spotted evidence of multiple hexes and at least one black eye.

"Malfoy!"

He turned and ran. His old friend Blaise was two doors from the end.

Blaise turned, eyes widening in shock. "Traitor!"

"Stupefy!" Draco yelled. Well, tried to yell. It came out as something between a rasp, a squeak, and a pre-vomit gurgle, but it worked. Blaise collapsed.

He peeked in the rooms as he ran past. Dead. Dead.

"Get him!"

He dodged a curse and ran into the last room.

Charlie Weasley had woken up.

Several Deatheaters had attempted to corner him.

Draco thought he'd heard somewhere that Charlie Weasley worked with dragons for a living.

He believed it.

Weasley hadn't had a wand. He hadn't had any proper weapons at all, really.

So he'd done what anyone would do. He'd yanked his pillowcase down over the head of the first person to walk through the door, presumably, and hit them hard enough to knock them out. Then he'd snatched their wand up and held off the next five people who'd tried him.

Draco Malfoy was not impressed. The only thing that ever impressed him was himself.

He wasn't impressed. He was just . . . mildly flabbergasted. In a general sort of way.

"Stupefy!" he yelled. He hit one of the Deatheaters in the back. Another turned to duel him.

"Alright there, Malfoy?" Charlie called.

"Apparate out already, Weasley!"

"Can't! Protego! Why, can you?"

The Dark Mark, he realized. It must be the Dark Mark. That explained a lot, actually.

He gritted his teeth and shouted a Blasting Charm. He was going to sleep for a week after this.

He barreled through the temporarily disoriented Deatheaters and grabbed Charlie's arm just as another one appeared in the doorway, shouting a charm that sounded vaguely familiar.

Something silver flashed through the air as they Disapparated.

He fell to his knees on the field, feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Was he going to throw up like Johnson?

"Well done, Malf-"

He looked down.

It appeared dear Aunty Bella had shared that knife throwing spell with someone.

Charlie had noticed. He hissed something in Romanian. "Dittany! Tell me one of you has dittany!"

He must have been shouting, but it seemed rather far away. He couldn't quite understand the girls' responses, but they seemed very concerned. That was nice of them. He couldn't remember anyone sounding quite so worried about him before. Wood sounded worried too, but that couldn't be right, Wood was dead, dead like Katie Bell and Lavender Brown and Seamus and Dean, but they all sounded worried about him, even though he had said some things he perhaps should have apologized for - But they were dead, weren't they?

A camera flashed. Colin peeked out from behind it. "That was great! Just wait until I show my brother this! You don't mind if I put it in my DA album, do you? Hey, will you sign it?"

Draco got to his feet and took the pen automatically.

Why not?

. . . . .

 **Author's Note: The birthday present thing came from the Berinfell Prophecies series to give credit where credit is due.**


	12. Potterwatch: Password: Creevey

"Welcome back, listeners, it's River here, and I've got breaking news on what the Prophet ought to be calling the St. Mungo's Massacre. I regret to inform you that Oliver Wood, former captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, has been confirmed as dead as has surprise recruit Draco Malfoy. Both of them died in defense of the patients. All other potential deaths remain unconfirmed, but I . . . " Beat. "I'm not hopeful. Let's have a moment of silence, shall we?"

"River" got himself under control. "In better news, there are three confirmed survivors. Let's hear it for Ribs, Ringing, and Rodent the Elder!"

"My name's Charlie Weasley," a tired voice said. "If I had my way, I'd introduce He-Who-Ought-to-be-Hexed-to-Oblivion to a few of my friends from Romania, and I'm not ashamed of that."

"Would these friends of yours be of the fire breathing variety?"

"However did you guess?"

"Something about the murderous expression tipped me off. Is there anything you'd like to tell the public?"

"If any of my family's still out there - " His voice was shaking. "Be careful. Please. Despite what you may think, Fred and George, you're not invincible."

"I think we should all keep that in mind. If they can get Oliver, they can get anybody."

"Well, maybe not anybody, Ringing. They've yet to beat our favorite DA instructor, after all. Ribs, your thoughts?"

The Caterwauling Charm went off.

"You have got to be kidding me!" River shouted. "Right, folks, password is - Protego! Go, peop- "

Muffled curses and pops came in over the radio.

"After them!" someone commanded.

Then the last voice anyone wanted to hear came over the wireless.

"Good evening," a cold voice said. "I am pleased to add Miss Susan Bones and Mr. Lee Jordan to tonight's death tally. Please tune in next week when we shall announce the death of Mr. Potter. Password: Pureblood."


	13. Breaking News: Theater Fire

**Pureblood Theater, One Week After Radio Incident**

Fred readied the fuses and waited for the signal.

. . . . .

George ran out on the stage, much to the audience's shock. They couldn't all be purebloods, surely. There weren't enough left. Oh, well.

"Troll! In the back room!"

They stared at him. He grinned. He'd wanted to do this for years. "Thought you ought to know."

He collapsed theatrically onto the stage. He lay there for a moment before propping himself up on his elbows. "Also, incidentally, the building's on fire."

The alarms blared just as he finished the line. The crowd panicked.

. . . . .

"Fiendfyre!" Hermione hissed.

It was a dark spell. She was past caring.

. . . . .

Harry waited for the crowd to erupt in confusion before whipping off the cloak and yelling "Stupefy!"

The red line missed Bellatrix by inches. She whirled. Her face, rapturous moments before, was furious.

"Crucio!" she screamed.

He ducked, already yelling "Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew out of her hand and into his. He breathed a sigh of relief.

She shrieked and flung herself at him with a dagger that appeared from nowhere.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And just like that, she was dead.

Ginny stood behind her, looking pale. "She deserved it," she said fiercely, but her eyes were overly bright.

Ron appeared. "Got Dolohov," he panted. "Let's go."

They apparated out and met up with the others two streets away. The Fiendfyre still raged. They watched the theater burn quietly as they waited for Fred.

He appeared moments later. As he did, "Harry Potter Lives!" appeared in fireworks over the smoke.

"Brilliant," Harry said savagely. "Well done."

"Indeed," a cold voice said. "You've succeeded in annoying me, Potter. But no longer. Avada Kedavra!"


	14. Society News Bulletin: Policy Changes

"No, no, no," Everett muttered frantically as his eyes scanned the book. "This is wrong! All wrong!"

Mad-eye was fighting off eight Deatheaters at the moment, but he was about to fall. At least he got that "Death worth the name," that he'd been aiming for. It was incredible he'd lasted this long on his own, really, but in this new, darker world, his paranoia was just plain common sense.

Voldemort had made plans to personally raid Grimmauld Place. Everett didn't even want to think about what the outcome of that fight would be.

Half the Weasley's were dead, as were about three-quarters of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

The Ravenclaws weren't far behind. Lee Jordan was dead, Luna was on the run, Harry was about to die without the chance to save himself through a sacrifice, and they didn't have the slightest idea where to look for the locket.

"We ruined it," he moaned. "We ruined it!"

"I told you so," his sister said from behind him. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

"Apologize?" he suggested meekly.

She rolled her eyes. "Fix it, you idiot!"

"How?" he demanded.

"Oh, you're hopeless." She stormed out.

. . . . .

Everett and Raca lurked in a dark hallway of Grimmauld Place.

Anna, otherwise known as Everett's sister, knocked them both out with a Society stunner.

"Sorry," she said, stepping over them. She smiled brightly at the house-elf that came around the corner. "Hello, Kreacher. Would you mind if I gave you a suggestion about how to complete Master Regulus's last order?"

He gaped at her.

"Oh, don't mind them," she said dismissively. "They just got a little overexcited. Speaking of which, we really need to discuss why it would be a bad idea for you to go talk to the Malfoys anytime soon."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Epilogue up tomorrow.**

 **I suspect this chapter will be something of a base breaker. I know it takes away a lot of the tragedy aspect and is somewhat abrupt, but look on the bright side: People aren't dead anymore! Reset!**


	15. Epilogue

**A/N: Reasons why people on this website are awesome: Every time I post a chapter thinking, "They're going to hate this plot twist. They'll never ship these two characters. Etc." generous and enthusiastic reviews prove me wrong. You're all fantastic, and I want to thank you for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing this story.**

 **Guest: I'm thrilled you've enjoyed the story so much, but it really does have to come to an end, I'm afraid.**

 **If anyone's interested, I'll be adding two fluffy Remus centric oneshots to my "Should Have Been" collection soon. (Probably start posting tommorow.) One will be about the Marauders confronting Remus about his "furry little problem" and the other is a Remus/Tonks survival fix-it.**

. . . . .

Dumbledore was dead. Some facts remained the same no matter how you changed history. The rest, however, went rather well.

A year after Harry defeated Voldemort, Remus and Tonks had their wedding. Sirius was the best man. Ted was there to give his daughter away. Andromeda finally made here peace with Remus.

The Weasley's, minus Charlie, were all there. Charlie was in Romania, but he sent his best wishes.

Hagrid, Slughorn, Katie Bell, and Flitwick were all missing. They were much grieved.

But Harry pulled Ginny onto the dance floor, and Hermione gave up on hinting to Ron and outright dragged him out there. Neville found himself dancing with Luna and still wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but he figured if he could take down Nagini, he could dig up the Gryffindor courage to ask her to dance again.

Fred and George tried out their "improved" version of a Muggle device they were much enamored with: the whoopee cushion. Lee Jordan assisted their efforts.

As for the infamous incident with the cake and Auntie Muriel, Padfoot swore he had nothing to do with it. For some reason, Moony didn't quite believe it.

On the sidelines, Anna watched smugly. Everett stood sheepishly beside her.

"I peeked ahead," she informed him. "Teddy'll be born within the year. Now have you learned your lesson about interfering?"

"Yes! Yes, absolutely. It's just . . . "

"Just what?" she asked suspiciously.

He mumbled something.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT DISTRICT 13 TO DECLARE WAR ON THE CAPITAL THREE YEARS EARLY?!"

. . . . .

 **A/N: For the record, no, that's not a sequel hook. I just thought it would be funny.**


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